The Time Traveler's Wife
by neverlanding rapunzel
Summary: (TIME TRAVELER'S WIFE AU) "I sit in the booth opposite where she sat. I can hardly contain my excitement. My absolute bewilderment. This woman knows me, and not just in passing, like, actually knows me." Clara first met the Doctor when she was 6, and he was 36, and got married when she was 26 and he was 28. Impossible.. but with a touch of time travel, even the insane becomes real.
1. Prologue

**THE TIME TRAVELER'S WIFE**

 **( PROLOGUE )**

* * *

 **CLARA:** It's hard being left behind… I wait for him… not knowing where he is, wondering if he's okay… It's hard for me. Being the one who stays.

Instead, I keep myself busy. That way, time goes faster.

I go to sleep alone, and wake up alone. I take walks in the streets of London. I work until I'm practically dead. It's so bizarre. Why does absence make the heart grow fonder?

Many years ago, in the times of war, men would set sail for new lands and fight for their countries. Their wives would wait for them. I know, now, how it must have felt. It pains me, it truly does.

Because now, I wait for the Doctor.

* * *

 **THE DOCTOR:** How does it feel to be absolutely normal? With nothing wrong with you… without all this… nonsense. I know that it's nonsense. Yet, every single time, whenever that old girl, the big, blue box, appears before me… I can't help but explore the world inside. The infinite abyss of the bigger-on-the-inside wonder. I, to this day, haven't a clue about how I can stop myself, even though, I know, one of these days, it's going to cost me very dearly.

Sometimes, it's not a matter of appearing at some point in Clara's life… sometimes, it's a matter of finding myself hauled off to jail. Finding myself witnessing my parent's death. More times than others, I'll be running. I have to. People find me; they hunt me. Natural instinct, I guess. You see a man step out of an anonymous blue box… what do you do? Do you ignore it – walk right past it? Do you comment on how the young man – me – must be very extraordinary to pull off such a magic trick like a disappearing police box?

I always feel like such an ass, leaving Clara alone. I can't help it – the temptation. The idea, that one day, I might appear at the scene of my parent's death, like I have a million times before, but this time… I would be able to stop it.

 _How does it feel?_

How does it feel not to wake up one morning, that blue box calling to you? It was almost like nicotine… a drug that I have never been able to shake. Even when I try.

My record is three days without traveling.

Somedays, I'll be reading _The Sun_ with Clara sitting next to me telling off Angie and Artie (the kids she babysits) for spilling coffee on the pure white carpet, and then, the next moment, I'll find myself in 1999, watching my thirteen year old self going to the cinema on his own for the first time.

All I ask for is for it to stop; for me to resist it. A week. Three weeks. Then a month. Then, hopefully, a year. I'll be free of that blue box forever. I want to settle down. Being able to see Clara lay down to bed next to me, being absolutely certain that that box won't come for me in the night.

She too, once upon a time, would follow me. Adventures. Traveling everywhere and everywhen. We had it all. Until, she decided that it was time to stop. It was time to hang up my keys, and then I would finally be somewhere I wanted to be: with her.


	2. ONE: First Date, One

**( ONE )**

 **THE MAN OUT OF TIME**

* * *

 **FIRST DATE, ONE**

 _October 26, 2013 (Clara is 24, The Doctor is 27)_

 **CLARA:** One of the many things I enjoy about _The Coffeebreak_ is that it contained two of my favourite things: books and cake. I love books and cake.

 _The Coffeebreak_ was a coffee shop/bookstore, just outside of London. Not many people knew that it existed. Partially, because coffee spills on books and ruins them, and partly because it's too small to accommodate more than about twenty-five/thirty people at a time. I sign the Visitor's Log: _Clara Oswald, 11:15 26-10-13._ I walk up to the registrar and order a hot chocolate with marshmallows and cinnamon, and a slice of black forest cake, before sitting down on the red bean-bag sofas and continuing my favourite book, _Summer Falls_ by Amelia Williams.

Amelia Williams has been my favourite author since I was fifteen, but surprisingly, I knew hardly anything about her. All I know, is that she was seventeen when she published her first book. Two years older than me.

Then, a woman approaches me. She's much taller than me, with long red hair and pale skin. She speaks with a Scottish accent.

"Hello."

I'm taken aback. I have been coming into the shop for five years, and never has someone approached me and spoken to me.

"Hi," I say.

"I can't believe there are still people reading that book, it's been nine years."

"Well, it's a good book," I say simply. I'm not sure how I feel about this woman. I can't tell if she's criticising the book, or complimenting it, or what.

"What's your name?" the woman asked me.

"What's yours?"

She smiled at me, "Amy Pond-Williams."

"Amelia Williams," I realised.

"Yes."

"Amy!" said came a voice from somewhere among the books. I looked back down and continued reading.

"John, what?" she asked.

"I found _Melody Malone_ on one of the shelves!" he said excitedly, "Who's that?"

I knew he was talking about me.

Amy explained, "Oh, John, this is Clara," I looked up. There he was. Him. The man that stole my heart so many years ago. Younger than I've ever seen him. The same hair, same familiar bowtie.

"Clara, this is-"

I found my voice, "Doctor?"

Amy frowned, and looked at the Doctor, "Do you know her?"

"No!" he fumbled, "I mean… do I? Will I? What?"

"I haven't heard someone call you ' _Doctor'_ in years!"

I stood up, and placed my book on the table, then grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the very small 'non-fiction' section of the shop.

I swallowed hard, as he analysed me in silence. It was him that spoke first, "I'm sorry, I don't know who you are."

"I know," I told him, "I'll try to explain. I…uh… I met you in Lancashire when I was six… you were older… maybe thirty?" I stumbled on my words, knowing how surreal the situation was. How could I explain this to him? Hopefully, my ramblings make sense to him in some form.

"I…uh…" was all he managed.

I struggled to find the words. He had told me this would happen, that one day I would find myself looking into the eyes of someone that doesn't even know me, and that I know better than he knows himself.

"Would you… like to have dinner with me, tonight? I might be able to explain better when I've had some time to think about it."

He has to accept. Surely, this man that loves me in both the past and future will love me now? Even if it's just in some sort of distance echo, telling him to accept the invitation. I don't want to lose the Doctor again. I want to keep this one, the one that returns home to me. The one that I can love without it being weird. The one that is only a few years older, over a few decades.

* * *

 **THE DOCTOR:** Amy decided that I needed to get out. When she said that, I'm pretty sure she meant a bar or a club – but I don't drink anymore. I broke that habit, thinking that it would stop triggering the blue box to come. It didn't, but it did help that I wasn't completely shattered whenever I went traveling. Saved a few lives with that decision. I couldn't stop thinking about her. River Song. We fought the entire night, then I decided I had enough of her using up all my credit cards and complaining about how I couldn't fight the box.

I decide that, instead of going to a bar, to go to _The Coffeebreak_. I sit down and order a large cup of coffee and some banana bread, and Amy orders an apple pie. I decide to explore the shelves of the bookstore for something to read, and see one of Amy's works, _Melody Malone_. I've never, in all my time working and going through bookstores, run into one of Amy's books, and it excited me.

"Amy! I found _Melody Malone_ on one of the shelves!"

I saw the girl, Clara, and asked Amy who she was.

"Oh, John, this is Clara – Clara this is-"

"Doctor?"

She sees me, and I have no idea who she is. I have not a clue what it is I have said or done to this poor girl in the past – her past, my future – but judging by her expression, it was a positive reaction.

Amy frowned at me, "Do you know her?"

I panic. Amy has not a single clue. Not who I am. Not my obsession.

"No! I mean…" I'm not sure what to say, "Do I? Will I? What?"

Amy gave me a look, one that said very clearly, _'you asshole'_ , but then continued to say, "I haven't heard someone call you ' _Doctor'_ in years!"

That was true. It had been a long time since I went by the name ' _the Doctor'_. I used it when I was seven through to the age of fifteen – but that was over twelve years ago now.

Clara grabs me by the arm and pulls me, and asks me out to dinner.

I'm taken aback, but I agree to.

"Yeah… um… sure…"

This girl – woman – is breathtaking. She might be short, and the bossy type, but she was gorgeous. She seemed smart, too, which was a plus. What was there to lose?

She turned away, smiling, collected her hot chocolate and cake, and left the building.

I told Amy I was going to go, and she looked at me with a puzzled expression, but I didn't care. I needed to sit down. Never, in my entire life, have I run into someone that I don't know yet. Sure, I've run into a few people. Mainly the ones that hunt me down, but I definitely know them. All too well. They chase me because I confuse them. Because I somehow place a magic blue box in the middle of London. People hate what they call 'abnormal' – that's why there's such a thing as racism and transphobia – even magic men with blue boxes.

I can't help but feel a sense of joy when I see Clara go down into the underground, biting her lip with a big grin on her face. Whoever I am to her – whatever I am to her – in the future. I clearly make her happy, and that's more than I've ever done for anyone in my entire life.

* * *

 _Later that evening_

 **THE DOCTOR:** It's six-pm – I know that because I check the clock above the television in Amy and Rory's house. Rory is Amy's husband. They've known each other since they were eight years old, which is eighteen years this year.

Step One: Find a suit to wear. I ask Amy if I can borrow one of Rory's suits that he uses for special occasions. She crooks her head to the side.

"And what do you need a suit for, Mr. Smith?"

"I've got a date."

She sat next to me in anticipation for an explanation, "Oooh, do tell! With who may the lucky girl be?"

"Clara."  
" _Coffeebreak_ girl? Wow. So you did know her?"

"Turns out we're old friends. Back before your parents adopted me."

"You told me you didn't have any friends before you moved to Leadworth twenty years ago!"

"I forgot," I told her.

"You dick," was her only response.

I sighed, "Are you going to help me, or not?"

She rolled her eyes at me.

"Because if you're not," I continued, "I'm gonna have to borrow a suit from Harry. And then I'll owe him a favour. And I don't have time for Harry's shit."

"Of course, you idiot! Why wouldn't I help you!" she protested, "She could be your soulmate. There's no way I'm denying you your soulmate! Just wait a sec…"

She left for her room, and came out about five minutes later with an ebony, tailored suit, with a blue bowtie and light blue collared shirt.

"Rory wore it when he graduated from medical school last year," she explained. I recalled him wearing it then – I was there, with Amy and River, when it happened, "That's the only time he's ever worn it."

"I hope to god it fits."

"It will. You and Rory wear each other's clothes more than River and I do," she laughed, "I highly doubt it won't fit."

Step Two: Shower and shave. Step Three: Put on Rory's suit. Step Four: Realise I look like I'm off to go kill someone. Step Five: Realise that I have no place to stay. I decide not to take Clara to my apartment, as there is the chance that River is still there. Even with that in mind, the situation would never present itself. Step Six: Look in the full-length mirror of Amy and Rory's guest bedroom only to see me looking about ten years older than usual, which wasn't exactly a bad thing. If Clara had a thing for me when she was a teenager, and I haven't experienced it yet… I guess she has a thing for older men.

I breathe in for a second, and exhale. I'm anxious. I have hardly spoken to this woman I met just today, yet she knows everything about me. I can't imagine what sort of things she's seen me do. I have not a clue what sort of things she likes. How can I make a good first impression if this _isn't_ her first impression?

Just as I go to open the door, Amy stops me.

"Just so you know, Rory and I are going out tonight-"

I raise my eyebrows. I see where this is going.

"We won't come back until around ten tomorrow."

"Good for you."

Amy smiled, "Don't be coy. Use our guest bedroom."

She winked, and it sent a shiver down my back.

"This date isn't like that…"

She tossed the spare key to me, and I missed by about an inch. I bent down and picked it up, and slid the keys into my pocket – even though I planned nothing to happen tonight, I still needed a place to sleep tonight.

I stole a rose from Rory's garden, and put it under my arm. I ran to where we were scheduled to have dinner tonight in record time, but I was still five minutes late. Clara is already seated in the booth, and looks relieved when she sees me. She waves at me like she's just seen the human embodiment of Jesus Christ himself. She looks like some sort of model, apart from the fact she was about five-foot-nothing, with her big brown eyes, petite nose and full lips. I handed her the roses. "For you."

"Thank you?" she says it like a question. She looks at me and realises my puzzlement.

"You've never given me flowers before," she explained.

I sit in the booth opposite where she sat. I can hardly contain my excitement. My absolute _bewilderment_. This woman _knows_ me, and not just in passing, like, actually _knows_ me. The waitress materialises and hands us each a menu.

"Tell me everything," I demanded of her.

"What?"

"I'm assuming you understand why I don't know you, right?"

"Yes. I know why that is," she lowers her voice to nearly a whisper, "It's because none of this has happened yet, but… well… for me, I've known you for a very long time."

"How long exactly would you consider a very long time?"

"About eighteen years."

"God. How often have you seen me?"

"Well," she breathed, "the last time I saw you, you told me to bring this to dinner when we met again," she handed me a pale blue book with a globe and the words, ' _101 Places to See_ ' written in red. I open it to a place marked with a piece of newspaper.

The page is a list of dates. It begins with September 23, 1995, and ends sixteen pages later on May 24, 2007. I quickly count in my head. There are exactly 152 dates, written with extremely great care in the handwriting of a six-year-old.

"You made this list? Are they accurate?"

"Well, it was you that dictated them to me. You told me that you had memorised the dates from this exact list-"

"So it's a mini-paradox."

"Pretty much," she shrugged, "But to answer your question: yes, they are all accurate. I used them to know when to go down to the park to meet you."

The same waitress came back to take our order, and we both order the same thing: Surf n' Turf. A waiter brings tea and I pour us each a cup.

"Which park is it?" I ask her, intrigued.

"Avenhem Park, in Preston."

"Preston? You from Lancashire?"

"That I am," she said, then continued, "I went there one day in Year One, and I was on my own by a large tree, and there you were."

"Stepping out of the blue box."

"Exactly, anyway…" she stopped for a second, "In retrospect, it's kind of obvious you expected me to be there, and that it wasn't your first time. You were thirty-six, from memory. I think the youngest I've seen you would have to be around twenty-eight/thirty; the oldest around forty-something. How old are you now?"

"Twenty-seven."

"Well, you look quite young. Youngest I've ever seen you. The last few years that you've appeared, you were mostly in your last thirties/early forties. Seemed to be going through a rough time. It's kind of hard to tell, though. All adults look big and old when you're small."

"What would we do?"

Clara smiles, "We would do lots of things. It kind of changing, the older I got. You spent _way_ too much time helping me with homework. We played a couple board games. You took me to the release of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ , that was fun. Mostly, we just talked, though. When I was really young, I thought you were an angel or some shit like that. In quite a few ways, actually, you were like a second parent."

Oh.

"That was, until I hit about fourteen."

 _Oh_.

"Did your family ever accidentally meet me?"

"Well, uh…" she thought for a moment, "You met my mum, once, before she died. And my grandmother. She tried to strip you stark naked."  
"I look forward to it."

There was an awkward silence between us, when Clara spoke up again.

"I'm sorry, am I overwhelming you?" she asked, "It's… just so opposite. I'm so used to me knowing nothing and you knowing… well… _everything_."

"No, I'm fine," I told her. That was a white lie, "But… could we back up? Pretend we're just two normal young people doing normal young people things."

" _Young people things_?"

"Yeah, uh… what about Hobbies? Pets? Unusual sexual proclivities?"

"Find out for yourself," was her only reply.

"Oh… geez… well… uh…"

"I'm training to be a high school English teacher at the University of London."

'Oh, cool. That fun?"

"Not really."

"What about siblings?" I asked.

She bit her lip, "I have a twin sister. Her name is Oswin."

"Oswin Oswald. Wow."

"I know," she said, "She's the prettier twin."

"I doubt that," I told her.

She blushed, "It's true, though."

"What about you?" she asked me, "Your life?"

I was frowned, "I thought you knew everything about me?"

"I don't know everything. Up until today, I didn't know your name was John. What's your last name?"

"Smith."

She snickered, "Really?"

"Yes, it's very unfortunate."

"Anyway…" she said awkwardly, "I know your parents died in a car crash when you were six. You were adopted when you were seven."

"Yes, I was. Amy's my adoptive sister."

"Amelia Williams is your adoptive sister?"

"Yep."

"You never told me that…"

I sighed, "Anyway, my real brother, Harold, he was adopted by another family. He's three years older than me, and he took their last name rather than continuing our family's legacy."

"What's his last name?" she asked me. I grunted.

"Saxon."

"Harold Saxon? The politician?"

I nodded.

"You're related to so many famous people!"

Another awkward silence.

"Where do you live?"

"Nowhere, at the moment. I'm crashing with Amy and Rory – Rory is Amy's husband."

"Oh."

"They're not going to be there tonight," I added.

" _Great_."

Funnily enough, it turns out, that Clara _would_ be sleeping over with him at Amy and Rory's house that night.

* * *

 _The next morning_

 **CLARA:** I wake up, and I'm in an unfamiliar room, I look around, and then turn on my side, and there's the Doctor. John Smith. Whichever. He is both.

I look under the sheets and realise I have no clothes on, so I go through one of the drawers until I find one of the Doctor's buttoned-up shirts and use it to hide my naked body. I walk around the apartment. The Doctor said Amy and Rory would be gone until ten. I needed to disappear before then. I check the clock, which reads eight-forty-seven. I turn on the kettle and prepare breakfast.

"What are you doing?" he asks me, fumbling through the door.

"Cooking breakfast."

"You don't have to do that. It's early. Come back to bed."


	3. ONE: A First Time for Everything

**A FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING**

 _June 16, 1991 (The Doctor is 5)_

 **THE DOCTOR:** The first time was magical. When the blue box appeared out of nowhere, almost like it was calling for me. It was my fifth birthday, and I was going to the library for the first time.

I loved books. They were in my heart forever. Perhaps because stories were the only things I had ever shared with my parents. Perhaps that's why Amy and I get along so well.

Everything was going fine – we had parked outside the Library of Northampton, when a blue box appeared just outside the entrance.

"Mummy," I said, "That box just appeared!"

"Don't be stupid!" said Harry, who was eight, "Boxes can't just appear!"

My mother bent down next to Harry, "Oh, but they can! Isn't that right, John?" she smiled at me.

"Oh, don't fill his head with such nonsense, Penelope," I recall my father telling my mother.

I tried to ignore the box – I really did – but I couldn't shake the feeling that it was following me. So, when Mother, Father and Harry were all looking the other way, at all the books, I ran towards the box. I tapped on the door, and it instantly opened. I was five, so I didn't care much that it was bigger on the inside, though when I grew older, around the age of about ten or eleven, I did start to wonder how it was that it did that.

I turned a corner, and then everything changed. I saw a man there.

* * *

 _January 2, 2001/June 16, 1991 (The Doctor is 24, and 5)_

 **THE DOCTOR:** It's exactly four-oh-three-am on a particularly freezing January morning. I'm just minding my own business. I was just getting home, and River greeted me cheerily. River was exactly eleven years older than me, making her thirty-five, turning thirty-six that year. It was never bound to work. I fall to my knees at her feet, and she lifts me up.

"Jesus fucking christ, John," she exclaimed, "What happened to you?"

Her voiced was slowly raising higher with anger. I was drunk. This had been before I had given up drinking. I threw up on the tiles, and she stepped back, turning her nose up at the rising smell. I couldn't blame her: I was a mess. My hair was a mess, my voice was cracking. I ran to the bathroom and locked the door, and saw her there: the blue box. My fingers brushed the handle, but I pulled away quickly. No. No time-travel for today.

I lasted exactly eleven-and-a-half seconds, before I pulled the handle as fast as I could and rushed inside. "Where to this time?"

The box landed, but the doors wouldn't open for me. I tried to check the date. She wouldn't let me. My brain is racing – I think something along the lines of _'Holy shit, what if I'm trapped here forever?'_ when a faint knock was heard on the door and it swung open. I saw a little boy walk inside, around the age of five. Yes… my fifth birthday. That boy was me.

"John?" I said in a faint whisper.

He – I – turned his head to look up at me.

I looked around, frantically trying to remember what happened next, when I spotted the large shirt next to me, one from one of my past _escapades_. I tossed it at him.

"What's this for?" he asked me.

"So you don't get cold," I responded.

He put the grubby shirt over his other one, and it comes down to his knees.

"Who are you?" he asked, "Where am I?"

I try to remember what I told him. It was hard to, though, it was almost ten years ago. I can't, so I make something up.

"My name is also John," I said, "Isn't that funny?"

He nodded.

"And this, this is the blue box. I call her old girl."

"And what's it for?"

He smiled, and crouched down next to him. He was tiny, probably around about half my own height. I had to sit down and cross my legs to be at eye level with him.

"It's for special people, like you and I," I told him, "We're time-travellers."

"But…" he stammered.

I smiled, "It's going to be okay. Go back to Mum and Dad and Harry. I can guarantee that you'll be returning to this box very soon."

He stepped out, and instantly the ship took off and materialised back inside my bathroom. I could hear River outside the door. "Are you okay, John?"

I closed my eyes, "Yes, I'm fine…"

And that was the first time.


	4. ONE: First Date, Two

**FIRST DATE, TWO**

 _September 23, 1995 (The Doctor is thirty-six, Clara is six)_

 **THE DOCTOR:** I'm at Avenhem Park. Approximately mid- to late- nineties. I can tell by the size of the usually large tree that stands there. Normally, it would be about twice my height, but today, it was up to around my knees. Suddenly, Clara bursts into the clearing – she's very young, wearing a red raincoat with matching boots, and a navy blue shirt with two white hearts printed on the breasts. The short bits of her hair at the front were tied back, with the long parts at the back hanging simply loose – she was absolutely oblivious to my presence.

She lays out a large blanket, and sits down, humming loudly. I try and edge closer. I'm not entireily sure whether or not she meets me today, or some other day. Maybe I should just keep silent. It's then that I trip and fall directly on my face.

Her head snaps up, and she looks right at me through the bushes.

"Who's there?" she asks fearfully.

I raise my hand, and push myself up with the opposite hand and say, "Greetings, Earthling."

I see her step back, and shout, "Winnie, you nimrod!" she screeches, "Oswin, you know that I wanted to be here on my _own_!"

She searches the ground for something the throw, and settles on a long, pointy stick. She throws it right at me and it scrapes my arm. Blood oozes from the thin cut.

"Please don't do that!" I yelped, holding out my hands in surrender.

"Who is it?" she asked me.

"The Doctor. You can call me the Doctor, Clara. I won't hurt you."

"I don't know who you are!" she said, "Why are you hiding?"

"I'm hiding because I don't know anybody here," I look down at the cut on my arm, "And now I'm bleeding."

"And where did you come from? How do you know my name?"

I'm reluctant to tell her at first, but I resolve to tell the truth. Only the truth.

"I'm a time traveller. In the future, we're friends."

"People only time travel in movies and shows."

"That's just what we want you to think."

"Why?"

"If everyone knew how to time travel, then it would be very crowded. Like when everyone visited Grandma Ravenwood over the Christmas break."

She considers this for a moment, and then says, "Come out."

I emerge from behind the bush, and see her looking at me in wonderment.

"You're bleeding," she says simply. Looking at my cut arm.

"You threw a stick at me."

"Oh. Right."

Silence. I try and make myself look nice and approachable. People who are nice to her make a lasting impression, since there are so few.

"Are you making fun of me?" she said suddenly.

"No," I frowned, "Why would I be making fun of you?"

"Because there's no such thing as time travel."

I considered this for a moment, "Santa time travels."

She looked at me questionably.

"Well, how do you suppose he gets all the presents to all the boys and girls in the world? He just turns the clock back every few hours so that he can get to all of them."

"Do you know Santa?"

"For all you know, I could be Santa Claus. I could put a tangerine in your stocking next year."

Her face lit up, "Are you Santa Claus?"

"No. But I know Santa Claus."

"You're just pretending. You don't know Santa and you can't time travel."

"If you hang around long enough, you'll see a blue box come and take me away."

She sat down and continued humming.

"What's that you're singing?"

"It's a song my mum came up with. It's called _Sun and Moon_.

"Is your mum a singer?"

"No, she's an artist," she said, "When are you going to go?"

"When I feel like it."

"Will you come back here?"

I thought about the next time Clara said I would visit her.

"September 29, 1995," I told her, "After tea."

I can hear the wheezing, and Oswin calling her. The box materialises next to me, and I step inside.

"Remember, it's a secret, Clara."

And then I'm gone.

* * *

 _February 9, 2024 (Clara is thirty-three, the Doctor is thirty-six)_

 **CLARA:** It was six o'clock in the morning. I hadn't even remembered falling asleep in the first place, but apparently that was exactly what I had done, as I awoke to the familiar sound of the Doctor returning. I hadn't felt his absence at all until he stripped off his clothes and got back into bed. He hugs me, and I find my body covered in blood from his profusely bleeding arm.

I shoot up and get a washcloth from the kitchen. When I come back I ask the obvious.

"Where'd you get that?"

"You threw a stick at me."

I never recalled throwing a stick at him, "No, I didn't."

He flicked my nose, "Yes, you did. It was when we first met. You took one look at me and said, ' _That's the man I'm going to marry_!' I always knew you were an excellent judge of character."

* * *

 _September 29, 1995 (Clara is six, Henry is thirty-six)_

 **THE DOCTOR:** The stupid box slammed into a rock. When it did, I fell out the doors and scraped my knee on a nearby path, right in front of Clara.

"Hullo, Doctor," she said.

Silence.

"Are you cold?" she asks considerately. She's only six and she's already trying to look after me, "You look cold. You could come to my house. We have a guest room."

"Well," I told, "That's awfully kind of you, but I'm not allowed to meet your family until 2009."

She frowned. I knew what it was like. She was only six – imagining dates beyond the nineties was difficult, "Why not?"

"It's part of the rules."

"What rules?"

I sat down, and she sat down next to me, "I know that I don't meet them until 2009, and that's how it's always been. I can't go changing that."

"When do _we_ meet?" she asks.

"Well, you met me last week," I told her, "But I met you on the twenty-sixth of October, 2013."

"That's a long way away."

"Not really. Only eighteen years."

" _Only_?"

More silence fills the air, and then I hear the wheezing of the box.

"Look, Clara. It's getting late. I'll be back October sixteenth. Come down here with a ball-point pen and that book that your mum gave you last year," I repeat the date to make sure Clara is listening to me.

"Au revoir, Clara," I say.

"Au revoir…"

" _Mèdicin_ ," I say the French word for 'doctor'.

" _Au revoir Mèdicin,_ " She repeats perfectly. Her accent is already better than mine, and I've been learning French for twelve years. Clara turns around up the path, into the arms of her mother. I look at her sadly. Within nine years, Eleanor Oswald would be shot while shopping. I never met her.

I step inside the box and off I go again. Back to _my_ Clara.


	5. ONE: Lessons in Survival

**LESSONS IN SURVIVAL**

 _June 7, 1996 (The Doctor is twenty-six, and nine)_

 **THE DOCTOR:** I'm in Greece with my nine-year-old self. I'm coming from 2012, he's coming from next Wednesday. Our twin boxes park next to each other. He steps out timidly, but when he sees me, he stops.

"John!" he exclaimed. I bent down and smiled at him.

"Hi, kid."

He fumbles, "Hi."

"Today is the day I teach you how to survive when you time travel."

"How do you know?" he asks me.

I hesitate, "I'm a time traveller. I've seen the future."

He seems content with that answer.

"First, you need to know how to obtain mon-"

"What does _otain_ mean?" he asked me.

" _Obtain_ ," I corrected, "It means _get_."

"Cool. Do I have to get a job?"

"No, no labour required."

He cocked his head to the side. Obviously, being a nine-year-old, he wouldn't understand what ' _labour'_ even meant.

I shrugged it off, and gestured for him to follow me. He nodded, and we walked through the city of _Athens_.

Out of all the places I have ever visited in my short twenty-six years, Athens is by far the oldest and most powerful. With its architecture, its mythology… it really was a marvellous place.

It was then that I spotted the tourists. I could identify them by their smiling faces, floppy hats, and cameras in hand. I bent down and spoke to my younger self. John frowned.

"We're going to steal money, from that lady over there," I gestured towards the tall woman, with the large duffel bag, a turtle neck, and ripped jeans. She wore a denim jacket. This is back when they were cool.

"Watch me," I told him.

I walked towards the woman, making a mental effort not to look at her. I pretended to be very captivated by the surrounding attractions, then I bumped into her, pushing her to the floor.

I turned around swiftly, and faked shock. "Oh my god! I'm so sorry!"

I put my hand out to lift her up, and slid my opposite hand inside her bag. I grabbed her purse, and slipped it into my tweed jacket. She took my hand gladly, and, for some bizarre reason, apologised for ' _not looking where she was going'_.

I smiled at her, then returned to my younger self. He furrowed his brows.

"But that's stealing."

"You need to know these skills, to _survive_."

"What do you mean?"

I swallowed hard, "You'll learn soon enough. Look, why don't _you_ try it?"

He mimicked my action, but instead choosing to pull it on a large, pimply, teenaged boy. He knocked him over, and the teenager said, " _Woah_ , look out kid," and bent down to ask him where his parents were. He started crying, and then the teenager hugged him. Taking advantage of this, John slipped his wallet out of the back pocket of the boy's jeans.

John looked around for me, then said to the boy, " _There's my big brother_ ," he said, pointing to me.

"Oh. Okay," the teenager replied, and moved along.

"Very good, John," I patted his back and he beamed up at me.

"Why can't you always come with me when I time travel, Doctor?" he asked me.

I inhaled sharply, "Because," I bent down. Now was the time. The time to tell him who I was.

I held up my hand, and showed a scar across my palm, which was caused by an incident involving a stick when I was eight. He held up his hand and looked at his scar.

"How did you get that?" he asked curiously.

"The same as yours."

He didn't get it.

"I'm you. We're the same… we're the same person…"

In that one instant, all his hope vanished. When I was younger, I'd always thought – hoped – that there was some sort agency, full of people like me. People who travel through time and space.

"You mean… there's no one else?" he asked.

"There were, once… or so I'm told," I told him. It was the truth. Doctor Martha Smith-Jones and Doctor Grace Holloway told me about how they had traced back this sort of things eons ago, called Chrono-compulsion, or as Grace called it, Timelord.

I hugged him, and he cried.

 _December 10, 2001 (The Doctor is fifteen, and fifteen)_

 **THE DOCTOR:** I'm in my bedroom with myself, doing what we normally do when this happens. Every single time, we watch the same movie, _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone,_ and talk about the things that are going on in our lives.

The other me, John-too, as I call him in my head, _(which he would be calling me, himself. In a way, we're both John-too)_ points to the girl playing Hermione.

"I saw her in the future," he said, "She's hot _as fuck_."

"Looking forward to it," I nod.

He mumbles, "I would _so_ do her."

"I get the idea."

Then there's a knock at the door, and I hear the familiar voice of my adoptive mother – Amy's mother, Tabetha. She adopted me about eight years ago.

"What, mum?" I say through the door.

I hear her breathing through the door, and she waits a minute. I raise my eyebrow and look at John-too. He heads towards the cupboard and hides amongst the clothes.

"Johnny, it's just," she swallows, "Harold is in town, and I was thinking that you would want to talk to him?"

I rolled my eyes. I love Tabetha Pond with all of my heart, but sometimes she had the most crazy ideas.

"I don't want to speak to him."

She sighed, "He's your family."

I opened the door and smiled, "No, he's not. You're my family. You, and Amy, and Dad."

She smiled, and shook her head, "Fine then, but one of these days you're going to have to face him."

"Yeah, I'm never going to do that," I said, and closed the door.

John-too emerged from the closet, and I turned on him, "You _knew_ that was going to happen!"

"Shut up. There was nothing I could have done. How am I supposed to stop Harold from coming?"

I rolled my eyes, "You could have warned me."

"Shut up," he half-shouted, "Just _shut up_."

I clenched my jaw.

"It's like… remember when Donna was in hospital? And she had amnesia?"

I looked away, "Yes."

"Yeah, well, you know how she was into all those weird things to make her smarter and shit? And how after she forgot you, you began to time travel to the day she finally did it and messed up her head?"

"Yeah," I swallowed, hard.

"It's like that. You can't do anything about it."

"That sucks. That _really_ sucks."

 _November 21, 2001 (Clara is eleven almost twelve)_

 **CLARA:** It is my twelfth birthday in exactly two days, and my mum decided that she wanted to do something special with family on my _actual_ birthday, November 23rd, so she let me have something with friends today. My friend group consists of four girls, plus me. Ada, a friendly, blind girl, who scared a lot of the other girls because she has scars over her eyes and completely white eyes. It didn't help that her mother was a cow, but you didn't hear that from me. Emma, a girl who believed she was psychic. Nina, who I was completely jealous of, even though she is five years younger than me and she is only seven years old, and my twin sister, Oswin.

My mum made a big birthday cake in the shape of a globe with ' _Happy Birthday, Clara and Winnie_ ,' written in pink writing icing.

Suddenly, Winnie stands up and demands that we play Ouija board. We only agree because she'll scream otherwise, and also because Ouija board is pretty cool. She disappears for a moment into her completely pink room and returns with a perfectly pristine box with ' _Ouija board_ ' written on the front. The board is only big enough for two people to play at once, so of course Winnie goes first, and she elects Nina to do it with her. The rule is, you have to say what you want to know out loud or else it won't work. They each out their fingers on the plastic thing-y, and Nina looks up at Oswin. Winnie gives her a big, pretty smile, and Nina says in the smallest voice, " _Who does Winnie have a crush on?"_

The Ouija circles around for a bit, before landing on J, A, C.

" _Jack Harkness_?" exclaims Emma.

I look at her pointedly and say, "But I thought you were psychic?"

"I am. I did already know that."

Then it's Oswin's turn to ask a question. She doesn't hesitate to ask a question, " _Does Nina like anyone?"_

The Ouija board says yes, and that seems to satisfy Winnie enough for her to pass over the turn to Emma and Ada.

Ada instantly says, "Does anyone like Emma?" and the board starts spelling out the letters, A, L, E, C.

Major Alec Palmer was the school's chaplain. He sold chocolates at recess and lunch for a dollar and owned the big, scary house up near the edge of town. He's twenty, almost exactly eight years older than Emma.

Then it's my turn, and I have so many questions rushing through my mind, none of them I can say out loud – things like ' _Is the Doctor are real person?_ ' and ' _Why was Grandma Oswald yelling at Mum on the phone this morning?_ '

"I don't know what to ask," I say.

"Ooooh, I know!" shouts Oswin, and then asks, " _Who is Clara going to marry_?" she purrs.

The board starts to move slow, and the letter say, 'J, O, H, N.'

I had no idea who John is, but I'm certainly looking forward to meeting him.

Then the letters changed, and read, 'D, O, C, T, O, R."

"Oh! You're going to marry a doctor named John!" then Ada frowned, "Who's John?"

"Probably someone I haven't met yet."


	6. ONE: After the End

**AFTER THE END**

 _October twenty-seventh, 2002 (Clara is thirteen, the Doctor is forty-three)_

 **CLARA:** I woke up suddenly when I hear the familiar wheezing of that box. Someone had called my name – they sounded like the Doctor – but that can't be right – I have a list of every single day he's going to visit me, and today was not one of those days.

I hear the faint sound of the wind and the trees calling, but not the sound of his voice. Perhaps, I had just been dreaming. I quite frequently dream of the Doctor; I dreamt that he was an alien from outer space. I would never, ever tell him that, though.

What if it was the Doctor? What if I wasn't dreaming and he really was outside my window this very moment? I dash out of bed, find a flashlight and peer out the window.

It's the middle of autumn, so the leaves on the ground had all turned brown and gold before falling and littering the ground. I see my dad and a man. The both turn around to look at me, and that's when I notice that the man is the Doctor. He is much older than I have ever seen him before, with bags under his eyes, flecks of grey in his hair, and large, circular glasses that look like Harry Potter's. Instead of the usual coffee-brown tweed and red bowtie, he dons a purple tweed coat and a matching bowtie. I almost didn't recognise him.

Dad walks up to my window, "Baby girl," he said calmly, "Go back to bed."

 _February second, 2005 (Clara is fifteen, the Doctor is thirty-seven)_

 **CLARA:** When I got home from school, the Doctor is waiting for me in my bedroom. I realise that it might seem peculiar, a fifteen-year-old girl hiding a thirty-something-year-old in her bedroom. It's not like he's a paedophile or anything.

I set down the tray of food that I have made for him. "I could bring some better books for you, if you like?"

He looks at me and smiles, "No, these are perfect." He holds up the book he is reading"' _Summer Falls_ ' by Amelia Williams.

"It's new," I told him, "The author is like, really young."

He smiles, "I know."

"You like her?"

"She's practically family."

I roll my eyes. "How old are you?"

"Thirty-seven."

"I meant right now, in 2005."

He thought about it for a moment, "What's the date today?"

"February second."

"I'm seventeen."

I frown. In my mind, he was a lot older then me, "Only seventeen?"

He shrugs, "Yeah, why?"

"Nothing – I just…" I stopped.

"You thought I would be much older then you?"

I nod.

"I'm only two years older than you, Clara."

I sit down next to him on the blankets. I swallow, and think about what I'm going to say next.

"So…" I say awkwardly, "Where are you coming from?"

"2024," he takes a bite out of a muffin.

"You look tired," I see the look in his eyes. He's debating whether or not to tell me why.

"Things are happening. My wife, she's…"

My smile dropped. I _knew_ he was married from wherever he was coming from. Every single age, he's married, he's just never brought it up much.

"Who are you married to?"

"A very intelligent, creative, beautiful woman."

My face falls further. What was _wrong_ with me?

Why is this affecting me so much?

"Are you eating enough?" he hands me a muffin, "You look thin."

I put on a feigned smile. "Yes, I'm fine." I have a dismal thought, "Am I fat in the future? Maybe that's why you think I'm so thin."

"No, you're not fat," he deadpans, He doesn't say anything more. I raise my eyebrows.

"Your mum was always bugging you about it."

" _Was_?"

" _Is_. I meant is. Ellie is fine."

He's lying, and I know it. I put my head in my hands and sighed.

 **THE DOCTOR:** Ellie Oswald dies in one month. Almost _exactly_ one month. She's shot when she's out shopping one day. I stroke Clara's hair. What am I supposed to say? I can hardly tell her about her mother's death. She already knows too much. I _know_ Clara. She'll try to change it.

I wish I could momentarily see my Clara – the Clara from 2024 – so that I could consult her on how to comfort fifteen-year-old Clara on the subject of her mother's death. She looks at me with those big, brown eyes. "Tell me."

 **CLARA:** The Doctor looks like he is internally having a battle with himself. "I can't, Clara."

"Why not?"

"It's not good to know things a head of time, it fuc-"he pauses, then corrects himself, "It screws up your life."

"Yes, but you can half-tell me."

"There's nothing _to_ tell. It's an accident"

I start panicking, "Does _Dad_ kill her?"

"No! _No_! Definitely not! Dave loved Ellie in both life and death – he never gets over her."

I stare at him unblinkingly. He shifts uncomfortably. "But they fight…"

He raises his eyebrows, "Have you ever been in love, Clara? _No_ , you haven't. You're _fifteen_. I tell you what, I would give up my _life_ for my wife, and _we_ fight." He takes a breath. "I don't expect you to understand."

Silence.

 **THE DOCTOR:** I can't leave on a bad note. I can't leave Clara with this. I can see it in her face – she doesn't believe me.

"She's shot. The man gets thirty years. He's still in prison…" I say under my breath.

"Oh stars…." is all she says, and begins to cry.

 _December fifth, 2005 (Clara is sixteen, the Doctor is thirty-two)_

 **CLARA:** I've been waiting all day for the Doctor. I'm over the moon with excitement. I got my driver's license yesterday, and Dad said I could take the car to Ada's party tonight. Oswin doesn't like this fact one bit – after all, _she's_ the party twin – but since Dad's already said 'yes' she literally can't do anything about it. I hear them arguing in the lounge room after dinner.

"You could have _asked_ me!"

"Calm down, Winnie-"

"Don't fucking ' _Winnie'_ me, Dad-"

I snicker as I walk towards the park. I lie down in the grass next to the same bush the Doctor usually emerges from. The sky dances with red and yellow as the sun sets under the dark blanket of the night. I think about going home, when suddenly I hear the box's whine and someone's boots against grass coming towards me.

He's fairly young. Not the youngest I've ever seen him, but still fairly young. He's not wearing the tweed, but instead is wearing a blue football jersey with the number '11' on the back.

I jump behind him, and he screams.

"Geez, Clara, you almost stopped my hearts."

"Still trying to convince me you're an alien?"

"Yes. Is it working?"

"Never."

I smiled, then looked down at his clothes. "What are you wearing?"

He frowned, "…football jersey?"

"You didn't tell me you played football."

"Yes, I'm on a team with my friend Craig."

I comprehend that for a moment. "You have a life."

"Yeah, so…?" he says.

"I don't know, it's just weird," I realise something, "Do you have a name?"

He grins, "I'm the Doctor," then winks.

"No, but seriously, what do people call you?"

"My name. Obviously."

"And what is your name?"

He shrugs, "Sorry, that's classified. You can't know until 2013."

"Eight years."

"Seven, really. It's December, isn't it?"

That's when I remember what I was so excited to tell him.

"I got my driver's license!"

The Doctor looks alarmed, "Really? – I mean…"

He smiles, "Congratulations."

I pout, "What?"

"Nothing. I just didn't know you could drive a car."

"Don't I drive? How do I get around?"

He grins, "Twenty-nine, almost thirty, year old Clara Oswald favours a quicker, more exhilarating vehicle."

I raise my eyebrows.

"A motorcycle. You ride a motorcycle."

I open my mouth in disbelief.

"I ride too. Apparently, I taught you."

I frown, "' _Apparently'_?"

"Well, yeah. A future version of me taught a past version of her."

"I look forward to it." I sit down on the rock next to him. He moves away. I choose to ignore this.

"There's a party at Ada's house tonight, want to come?"

He raises one eyebrow, "But, Clara, that would involve meeting your friends."

"Why not?"

He rolled his eyes, and held up his right hand, pretending to be thinking.

"Let's see, oh right," he pushed down one finger, "I'm twice your age," he lowers another finger, "Your friends would know something's up," another finger, "Your dad would find out because I'm assuming Oswin will be there." He takes a breath.

"But…"

"Oh, and Mrs. Gillyflower doesn't like me very much."

I sigh, "What did you do?"

"Hmph," he groans, "About fifteen years ago for her, three years ago for me, I stopped her master plan to sneak illegal drugs into the country. She's a nutter."

I pout, "Well, I'm going to this party. Come with me and sit in the car. I won't stay long and then we can go do something."

 **THE DOCTOR:** We park about a block away from the Gillyflower Estate, ironically nicknamed 'Sweetville' die to Mrs. Gillyflower's excessive bitterness towards anyone who wasn't perfect in her eyes. I can hear the music all the way down here, it's a Panic! At the Disco song… god, I haven't heard them played at a party in years. I actually kind of wish that I _could_ go inside with Clara, but that would be extremely unwise. She leaps out of the car and says 'Stay!' like I am her very disobedient Labrador, before skipping cheerily in her heels and short skirt towards Ada's. I slump down and wait.

 **CLARA:** As soon as I walk through the door, I regret coming in the first place. Mrs Gillyflower is in Dublin (business trip) for the next week, which is very much lucky, so Ada and Emma can work together for repairs. Emma had become like Ada's crutch, or sorts. Her eyes. There wasn't a day where Emma and Ada weren't together, with Ada clung on to Emma's shoulders with her left hand and her stick in her right. She was such a nice person, with the most rotten luck. She's blind.

I look everywhere in search for Emma and Ada, and I almost give up in utter exasperation until I find them hidden away in the library. Ada is wrapped in a blanket, covering the sleeveless black turtle-neck dress that she was wearing. Her boots were tossed to the side, and I could see her chipped red nail-polish on her toes. She has her head turned in Emma's general direction, which was standing at the window, gawking at the many, many, attractive guys from next door. One of them being our primary school chaplain, Alec Palmer.

"What are you doing?" I ask her.

She wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth, and rearranged her expression to form the look of innocence. If I didn't know her well, I would have believed her.

"You're perving again, aren't you?"

"Maybe…" she began, grinning, "Maybe not. But what about you? I can see that look. I _know_ that look. You are one thirsty bitch."

"Maybe, maybe not," I mocked.

In one swift movement, Emma stood up, grabbed my hand, and begun to lead me in the direction of the door. "Go out there, shout 'fuck me!' and about fifty guys will happily volunteer-"

I sighed harshly, "No, you don't get it. I…"

"She wants someone in particular."

Ada's voice shocked me. I turned my head towards her, and she had this wicked grin on her face. A rare grin, one that she only saved for when she was scheming.

Emma widened her eyes and exclaimed, "I'll be right back!"

"Where are you going?"

"I brought some champagne, but I left it in my car." She dashes out the door.

 **THE DOCTOR:** It's been a while. Perhaps an hour or so. So, I go looking for some food in the car. I have a nap. It's been _soso_ long. I start to consider going out for a walk, to stretch my legs.

I hear heels tapping behind me, towards the car. I look out the window hopefully. Except, it's not Clara, like I expected. It's this girl with this black mini-skirt, a frilly white shirt, and short brown hair curled in a way so that it frames her face. I blink for a moment and realise that it is Emma Grayling. Much younger. Much thirstier. Still the same old Emma Grayling.

"Shit…" I murmur to myself.

She clicks over to the side of the car, leans over and looks at me through the window.

"Hi, Clara's boyfriend. I'm Emma." She leans forward through the window so she can get a good look at me. "Wrong number, Emma, but hey…"

She smiles at me, "Don't be like that! Aren't you going to get out of the car and properly introduce yourself?"

I shifted in my seat awkwardly. She was making me uncomfortable.

"Oh, no. I'm fine here, thanks."

"Well, I'll just join you then." She walks around the car, opens the door, and sits in the driver's seat. She smells like alcohol and cigars. I try to resist the urge not to throw up all over her white top.

"I've been wanting to meet you for the longest time," she told me.

"You have? Why?" I pray to every single god I know, and when I look back at this moment in the future, I realise that ' _Batman'_ and ' _Black Widow_ ' are _not_ gods, but I was severely panicking.

Emma shifted closer to me, "You see, I'm psychic…"

She is.

"I'm psychic, and I know of your existence because there are many, many fine young lads in that party that would ever so love to give Miss Clara Oswald a good shag, and yet she rejects. And I come out here, _and here you are_!"

I've always liked Emma. Particularly in the present. She is one of the smartest people I have ever met in my entire life. I'm sad to have mislead her. Though, this does explain something she said to me when we first met her. I love it when puzzling things are explained this way.

"That's very _compelling_ reasoning, Emma. However, you may be _ever_ distressed to know that I am _not_ Clara's boyfriend."

"Then why are you in her car?"

I quickly think, and then an idea hits me. Clara is going to kill me when she finds out, but I don't care.

"I'm a friend of her dad's. He was worrying about letting her go to a party that would most definitely have both alcohol and Oswin in the same proximity to each other, so he asked me to come along, in case both of them get too drunk to drive." I mentally pat myself on the back.

Emma pouts, "That's not necessary - Clara doesn't even drink!"

"Yes, but _Oswin_ does." This is not necessarily true in the future, but I am aware that Clara and Oswin hit a rough patch in their teen years where the opposing twin existed solely to make the other one's life miserable, which is when Oswin took up drinking. She doesn't do it as much in the present.

High-heels click on the pavement. This time, thank the lord, it _is_ Clara. She freezes in her tracks when she realises that I have company.

Emma half-shouts, half-slurs, "Clara! This guy here says that he's not your boyfriend!"

Clara and I exchange glances.

"He's not," she confirms.

"Oh…" Emma frowns, "Are you leaving? So soon?"

"It's almost midnight. If I don't get home soon, Dad's gonna turn me into a pumpkin." Clara opens the door and turns the keys, "Come on Doctor." and starts the car.

She angrily sets the gears manually and slams her foot against the pedal with a dark expression plastered on her face.

All I can see is her eyes, illuminated by all the street lights. Her dark mascara is smudge around her eyes. It's 11;36PM. My heart is racing at a million kilometres an hour. She hadn't turned on the headlights, and there was an astounding amount of busy traffic. I close my eyes and try to steady my breathing as a car's headlights appear in the distance. It is then that she turns the headlights on with the flick of a switch and takes a deep breath.

Clara's expression slackens in the reflection of the dashboard.

"Why the _fuck_ did you do that?" I raise my voice, trying to steady myself.

"Why not?" her voice is calm. It frustrates me.

"Because we could have _died_?"

"Pfft…" is all she says.

I take a deep breath. "Let me out."

" _What_?"

"Let me out of the car, Clara."

"Why?"

"Don't question me." She pulled up to the side of the road, and unlocked the doors.

She hesitates. " _Look_ , I don't know what came over me…"

I grumbled and undid my seatbelt. I pushed the door open and stepped out, my boots crunching on the leaves underneath the abundance of snow.

"I really sorry. I was just angry at you because this is so _frustrating…_ "

I awkwardly stand there in silence for a moment, holding the door.

"Clara?" I whispered. I sounded like death.

"Yeah?"

"My parents died in a car crash."

 _September twenty-seventh, 2006 (Clara is sixteen, the Doctor is thirty-two)_

 **THE DOCTOR:** The box materialises in the park like normal, about fifteen feet west of where I can see Clara sitting on a picnic blanket with a packed lunch. She's wearing a red plaid dress that reached her mid-thigh, with a matching bow on her head. A black peter pan collar, black tights, and black boots. This style would stay the same for the next fifteen years.

It's Autumn: I can tell by the leaves that have fallen from the trees and was currently littering the ground. I feel dreadful, like every emotion overlapping on top of each other, and then doubling over once more. I sit outside for a few minutes to try and pull myself together. After a while, I start to feel lonely, so I stand up and walk towards Clara.

She doesn't look at me as I approach, which instantly makes me wonder what exactly my future self did this time. I sit down next to her, and she instantly grabs onto my arm and cries into my shoulder. I stroke her hair and remember. Clara told me this time would come eventually.

"I'm sorry," I said.

She looked up at me, "I thought we would be together forever."

February 2006: Clara started dating this guy named Danny Pink. He was two years older than her, and they both loved each other very much. Almost as much as she loved me, Clara would tell me later on. Today was the day he died.

"I know," I said, looking her in the eyes, "Life sucks, I know…"

She cried again, "How would you feel if your wife died?" she sniffed.

"It would be the worst feeling I could ever deel. She brought the light back into my heart. I don't think I could live without her."

She smiled through tears, "She's a really lucky girl."

"No," I said, "I'm the luckiest guy in the whole world. Not the other way around."

"What do you do when she's not around?" she asked me.

"In a way, she is always with me," I bit the inside of my mouth, "In spirit. She's always so happy."

"Danny always tried to be happy."

"I know. Think of that. Cherish that." I told her, "and be happy. He would never, _ever_ , want to be the one to make you miserable."

She sniffed, "You're right." She kissed my cheek.

"What's the for?"

"Being my friend."

 _September eleventh, 2007 (Clara is seventeen, the Doctor is thirty-six)_

 **CLARA:** My aunt died in 9/11. My mother's sister. She was twenty-seven when it happened, ten years older than I am now. The Doctor smiled at me. "You should write a letter. Write a letter to everyone you've lost."

"That's a lot of letters," I said.

"Then you better start writing."

It was true. I had lost a lot of people before it was their time, when they had so much life to live and so much love to give. Aunt Ana, my mum, Danny… I wouldn't be surprised if the Doctor, Winnie and Dad suddenly dropped down dead right this instant.

I took on board his advice. I was good at English, and maybe, this way, I could finally say goodbye to them, and vent out my frustration.

 **THE DOCTOR:** When Clara writes, she looks like the world has fallen away, leaving only her, the pen and paper. This is why I love to watch her work. I've seen Amy work on her novels before, and it's not even close to as emotionally powerful that Clara writes. The final products are amazing,

She looked up for a moment, "I forgot to ask, where are you coming from?"

"July. 2022."

She fails to hide her confusion, "Really? I thought it was a little later."

"Why?" I ask, pretending to be offending, "Are my greys showing?"

She snickers. "No, but you seem happy and calm. Usually when you're coming from '21, '22, or '23 you both look and act kind of worn down, and then in 2024 you're completely happy again.

I laugh, "You sound like a fortune teller. I've never realised you track my moods so closely."

"Well, what else have I got to go on?" she shrugs.

"Remember, it's stress that usually sends me in your direction, so don't get the idea that those years are the worst years of my life. There are good moments, too."

Clara goes back to writing her letter for Danny. She has given up on asking me about the future. Instead, she asks, "Doctor, what are you afraid of?"

The questions surprises me, and I have to think about it. "The last page."

She smiles, "What do you mean?"

"Everything ends, Clara. Even when I don't want them to. Friendships, family. But life goes on."

"I'll never leave you."

"But I leave you."

She hands me the three letters, each one addressed to three different people: Daniel Pink, Anastasia Ravenwood, and Eleanor Oswald. I instantly recognise them.

I've seen them before. They hang up on the pin-up board. I nod, and she begins to sign tem with a loopy signature.

Under that, she begins writing the date.

"Don't," I stop her, "They're not dated."

"They're not?"

"I've seen them before. They hang up in your office. There's no date."

"Okay then…" she erases the date.

"Done." She looks at me, bewildered. "Do you ever find that you go to the present and something has changed? I mean, what would happen if I write the date on Danny's letter? What would happen?"

"I don't know. Try it," I say, curious. Clara writes the date under her signature on Danny's letter. _11/09/07_.

"There," she says, "That was easy." We look at each other, bemused.

Clara laughs, "If I've violated the space/time continuum, it isn't very obvious."

"I'll let you know if you caused World War III." I begin to hear the box, "I think that's my queue to leave." I walk towards the wheezing, open the door, and then I'm gone.

 _July thirteenth, 2022 (The Doctor is thirty-six, Clara is thirty-three)_

 **THE DOCTOR:** After dinner, I'm still curious about Clara's letter to Danny, so I knock four times on the door to her office to look at it. Clara is working with Amy to write some teen romance novel - I don't even know - I look up to where the letter would usually be, but it's not even there.

"Hey," she says, looking up at me and pushing her fringe out of her face, "What's up?"

"Where's the letter, the one that used to hang up here?" I gestured to the wall.

"The one that hung between my mum's and my Aunt Ana's letters?"

"Yeah, the one for Danny?" She thought for a moment, "Oh, um… Amy and I were using it as reference."

She rummaged through her files, until she pulled out an old letter with marks and coffee stains all over it. I look it over. There's still no date on it.

"What happened to the date?" I asked.

She brushed her hair behind her ear, "What date?"

"You wrote the date on the bottom - here." I pointed at the spot, "Where is it?"

"Okay, I'll tell you the truth." She laughed. "I re-wrote the letter after you left."

"Why?"

"I got all freaked by that World War III thing. I started thinking about - what if we never met because of this?"  
"Well, I'm glad you did."

"Why?"

"I don't know, I just am."

We stare at each other, and Clara smiles. I shrug.

Why do I feel so relieved?


	7. ONE: Christmas Eve, One

_author's note: if you are sensitive to any kind of violent deaths, i would suggest skipping over this chapter._

* * *

 **CHRISTMAS EVE, ONE**

 **(ALWAYS CRASHING IN THE SAME CAR)**

 _December twenty-fourth, 2007 (Clara is eighteen, the Doctor is forty)_

 **THE DOCTOR:** It's a dark, winter afternoon. I'm currently hiding out in Clara's old bedroom at her dad's house. She's left me roast potatoes (which were undoubtedly made by Oswin, as Clara couldn't cook to save her life) and a lamb sandwich. I ought to be happy: this is the best meal I've gotten in my travels in my entire life. However, I am _not_. Clara left me a note saying that it was Christmas Eve, so she would not meet him today.

I know that right now, my twenty-one-year-old self would be in a London bar, chatting to my brother - the _traitor_ \- in such an aggressive way, before getting so drunk that I lose my virginity to some unsuspecting nineteen-year-old. All in the space of about an hour. Today is also the sixteenth anniversary of my parent's death.

I sit quietly as thoughts of them surface my mind. They - particularly my mother - were the best people in the entire universe. Penelope and Randall Smith. My mother was a doctor at St. John's Ambulance. My father was a retired military general

One of the painful things about time travel is that I get to see my parents happy and soso _alive_ , even though I knew they would be dead in a few short years. I have even spoken to them a few times. Once, I almost told my mother who I was. Then, I left.

I see how they are with me. My mother encouraged me to fully embrace my creativity. My father stopped my head from floating to the clouds. I see her with Harold. I see how close Harry and I used to be. We walk together, smiling. We talk about how I was going to be a champion football player. She wears lots of denim and blouses with her blonde hair tied up in a knot above her head. He wears a simple white shirt with black pants and looks scarily like me when I can't be bothered to shave. We're at the beach, the four of us wearing matching sunglasses and I see myself wearing the most ridiculous hat.

I hear someone at the door and I come back to reality. Clara knocks four times and I unlock the door. There's snow in her hair and her cheeks are bright red. She's eighteen. Clara throws her arms around me and shouts "Merry Christmas, Doctor!" and I give her a kiss on the cheek trying to pretend everything's going to be alright.

"What's wrong?" she asks, "Shit, did I forget the mayo?"

"Hey. Hush." I sit down and grab some blankets and Clara squeezes beside me. "Have I ever told you about my parents?"

"No." she perks. She's always eager about any information about myself that I let drop. Perhaps so she can discover my identity - but today, I don't care. As the dates on the list grow few, she is secretly convinced that she can find me in real-time. Find John Smith, who is only two years older than her with the dead parents and the adoptive family, if only I would tell her more.

We each ate a cookie.

"Okay, once upon a time I had parents, and they were deeply in love. And they had my brother. And they had me. And we were all pretty happy. Both of them were highly respected members of our community. My mother was a doctor. We would always go out for Christmas. And one year-"

"What year?"

"1992. It was Christmas Eve. Sixteen years ago."

She swallowed.

"Harry and I -"

"Harry?"

"My brother. We were at our grandmother's house. We lived there for a about five months after...anyway, they were driving, and they were in a rush to pick us up. They didn't turn their indicators on, and they crashed."

"That's horrible."

"They didn't just _crash_ though. They ran into a truck, full of scrap metal. When they hit it, a large sheet of steel went through the windshield and decapitated my parents."

Clara closed her eyes, "No…"

"It's true. The front end of the car crumpled up, the steering wheel went through mum's chest. Both their heads went through the windshield to the back of the guy's truck. There was an unbelievable amount of blood." My voice broke, "From that moment on, I would time travel to that point and watch it. For months, I did nothing else. I had nightmares about it, and then Gran Smith died and I was alone. Just my brother and I."

"Is your surname 'Smith'?"

I covered my mouth, but it was too late. "Maybe. Maybe not."

She smirked.

"I could Google 'Harold Smith,' since I know that's your brother's name."

"Not anymore," I told her, "After my grandmother died, e changed his surname. And don't ask what it is, you'll find out soon.

Silence.

"I'm sorry about your parents, Doctor…"

"It's okay. It was almost thirty-four years ago, for me."

She pouted, "That doesn't make me feel any less sorry for you."

She stands up and I say, almost as a dead whisper, "Sorry for putting all my sadness on you."

"It's okay, Doctor. After all, we're bestfriends, in the future."

"But Clara," I say, "You're so much more than that."


	8. ONE: Christmas Eve, Two

_author's note: oh look, i'm baacckkk. i can actually write now. i don't really have an excuse for being gone for so long, so will you accept my apology and just read the chapter?_

 **CHRISTMAS EVE, TWO**

 _December twenty-fourth, 2007 (The Doctor is twenty-one)_

 **THE DOCTOR:** I receive a call from the traitor Harold, requesting if I want to meet up with him at some pub in London dubbed, "The Rose and Crown." Despite my having not forgiven him, I decided to go anyway. The _Official Smith Day of Mourning_ ™should be acknowledged by those who suffered, together, not apart.

What I didn't expect of that day, was the first words to protrude from my brother's mouth being, "I'm getting married."

"To who?" I asked of him.

"Her name is Lucy James. She's smart, talented, funny..." Harold swallowed, as if choosing the following statement's word's very attentively. "She's just like Mum."

I clenched my jaw at the sentiment. "Since when have you cared about Mum?"

He wasn't offended that I believed him to be a traitor of the highest order, instead he became alarmingly frustrated, "Don't be like this, johnny."

I tapped the approaching barmaid on the shoulder, to alert her of my wishes for another drink. She allowed her desperation to bleed into her lips with a smirk heavy with implication.

"I think she's into you," Harold commented on her actions as if I were unable to pick them up myself. I gave a single look in his direction that could be interpreted as being that of homicidal rage. "I don't care."

A second past, and then another. A moment where the pair of us - two brothers, one mad, the other sympathetic - stare into each other's eyes. The barmaid sets yet another drink before me, and Harold doesn't waste any time in taking the drink away before I can consume the damaging substance. I roll my eyes and turn to the barmaid again, "Can I have, like..." I ruminate on a number, "five more of these, please?"

"John, stop." Harold has an almost pleading manner of which he speaks in. "Unless you want me to throw you into the back of my car."

"You're not my mother," I don't hesitate to remind him.

He exhales with exasperation, "I'm your brother."

The look I give Harold causes him to furrow his brows. With this evil glance I give him, comes the harmful words of, "No, you're not."

"You're insane. Stop making a scene."

"A scene?" I almost scoff, "You mean-" I stood up, my fingers wrapping around the drink he had confiscated from my grasp. In a single swing, I down the alcohol. I toss the glass to the side, then grab Harry's own drink. I douse him in the substance, soaking his suit with the drink. He stood up, making it appear to onlookers as if he were about to fight me.

Harold was three years older than me, however about four inches shorter. In his face were our mother's eyes and nose, though the remaining features belonged to our father.

"You know what, John?" his anger rose with every added syllable. His steps forward caused my steps back, "I thought you'd at least be happy for me, marrying a girl who's just as amazing as Mum was, but I guess you're too stuck with the mind of a fucking six-year-old to get over whatever the hell it is that I did."

Without a conscious thought or any physically input into the matter, my right fist clenched shut, the same hand rising. With one shot, my fist collides with his face, and blood instantly rushes from his nostrils. "You think _I'm_ the six-year-old? Would a six-year-old do _this_?"

That was the moment I did something considerably idiotic. My fingers wrapped around the wrist of the flirty barmaid, bringing her spinning towards my body. My lips crash into hers, despite her being a stranger. I spot Harold shaking his head in dismay, his hand clutching his bleeding nose.

That following morning, I had awoken beside the very same barmaid, this time in the nude, with confusion having filled every ounce of my being, and a text in the depths of my phone informing me that Harry and his fiance were expecting.

* * *

 _April eighth, 2008 (Clara is eighteen, the Doctor is forty)_

 **CLARA:** I am in my London flat besides Grandma Ravenwood. We are doing the crossword, Gran's wrinkled fingers passing over the paper to the skin of my hands, with a gleeful smile on her face. My dad and Winnie alike had insisted that my apartment be renovated in some form, though with each passing moment I grew even more antsy with my decision to trust them with that responsibility. Despite this tugging thought, it appeared that all would go well. At least, that was until Nina came around.

Nina was five years younger than Oswin and I, however Nina still hung around with us due to the blooming friendship between the unlikely trio of her, Oswin and Angie. I worry for Angie's impressionable nine-year-old mind, and the potential influences that Nina and Oswin could have on that, what with Oswin's frankly chaotic party-animal lifestyle and Nina's attempt at being 'edgy' (which involved the recent development of dyed bubblegum pink hair and extraordinarily thick, drawn-on eyebrows that she had to say "my eyes are down here!" in the most irritating tone of voice more frequently than not)

I hadn't seen the Doctor in almost two months, and the next visit wasn't expected for almost three weeks, in the beginning of May. With the passing of time, I found myself becoming increasingly more anxious as we hit the period where I won't see him for several years, the mere thought breaks my heart.

"Clara, darling," speaks Gran beside me, "I would like to go outside. Stretch my legs." She stood, letting out her arm for me to cling to and guide her towards the elevator with. Her vision has been failing her in recent times, with even those close to her looking merely like a dark silhouette on a white background. The familiar sound of the elevator hitting the ground floor fills the elevator, and we step out into the lobby together. I act as almost a guide for her, steering her towards the front door. My body stiffens at the sudden realisation that the familiar blue box is parked just outside those doors. I search with my eyes for the Doctor, making sure that Gran doesn't notice the shift in my behaviour. Sure enough, he stood there leaning against a tree not far from the box itself.

"Who's there?" Gran asks of me.

"No one," I resort to lying, instantly feeling guilty for it.

The Doctor exchanges a glance with me, one that so clearly tells me that I should tell her. I don't need to think on it, for the Doctor has lived through the consequences of this before: could the outcome really be all that bad?

"Clara," Gran warns me, a hint of fear reaching her voice. The Doctor moves from his spot by the tree, walking steadily closer towards us. "Introduce us."

It isn't a demand, it's a suggestion. The laced kindness in his words tell me that much. Gran clings to my arm still, awaiting the aforementioned introduction.

"It's okay, Gran, this is..." I begin, ready to make a formal introduction. It is with this I realise that I don't know a formal name to tell.

"Doctor Smith," the man now beside me saves me from awkwardness. He reaches warily for Gran's hand, then kisses it lightly. Despite my grandmother not able to see the man who gave forth this flattery, she is flattered nonetheless, "Clara, who is this?"

"My boyfriend," I tell her. The words sound unfamiliar in my mouth, like another woman must have said them. It had only been last December that the Doctor had revealed to me that the Doctor had revealed to me that, in the future, I was his wife. Following that revelation, I didn't see him for a month and a half. In that month and a half, I was left to wonder what it must be like, to see the woman you love grow up before your eyes.

Gran passed her hand over his unshaven jaw.

"You're not a boy," she concludes from this, "How old are you?"

"I'm two years older than Clara," is his response, not an entirely untrue one. Somewhere out there, there was indeed the Doctor's personal persona living, two years older than Clara at almost twenty.

"You're twenty?"

The Doctor thinks for a moment, perhaps he is trying to remember the date he has found himself in. He exhales, the smiles as if he had found the answer he was looking for. "Nineteen, at the current moment."

"Do you love her?"

There is a pregnant silence filling the atmosphere. Gran cocks her head to the side, awaiting his response. He contemplates what he is to say next, and finally settles for the words.

"Yes, I do. Very much. With all my heart, in fact, enough to fill two."

Her lips quiver into a smile of pure joy, "Are you to be married?"

"Yes."

"Good, you seem like the good sort." With her beam of a smile, I see the shadow of the young woman she once was. Her happiness takes something as wearing as age and lets it disintegrate into beauty. "What should I call you?" she asks of the Doctor. The look he gives in my direction clues me in that I should cover my ears. I roll my eyes at the silliness of the situation. I don't hear the name he utters off his lips, but what I do hear is the exclamation that my grandmother makes in response, "What a boring name!"

I uncover my ears, and Gran doesn't seem aware that I had to block out his name in the first place. With a final smile of pure warmth, she gives the Doctor a hug.

"Now, I know I might not be here much longer, but I want you to promise me something-"

"Anything, Gran," I don't comment on my grandmother's reference to her passing through this world

"I am leaving you sixteen-hundred pounds, Clara-"

I don't even allow her to finish, before my astonished gasp cuts over her, "What?"

"Yes, but you must promise me this. Promise me that you'll use it for your wedding."

The Doctor isn't nearly as astounded as I am, in fact he appears to be holding in a laugh at my apparently comical reaction to Gran leaving me such a large fortune. I remind myself to chastise him on this later.

"I promise, Gran."

* * *

 _author's note: once again, sincerest apologies for not updating sooner! i hope you at least liked this chapter._


	9. ONE: Eat Or Be Eaten

EAT OR BE EATEN

 _November thirtieth, 2013 (Clara is twenty-four, The Doctor is twenty-seven)_

THE DOCTOR: Clara has invited me to a family dinner party, which is actually just a last-minute get-together thrown in haste by her twin sister. This will be the first time I will meet her father, and her stepmother. This will be the first time I've met anyone's parents. Hell, I've never even been in her flat. The whole concept was daunting and oddly intimidating. I slide this aside as I push the buzzer, to which I am greeted instantly with a very irritated sounding woman asking "Who is it?"

"Um..." I say, intelligently. "My name is John Smith."

"We don't want what you're selling," the woman replies. I swallow, hard.

"I'm Clara's boyfriend."

The door opens and I stumble into the dimly-lit elevator playing poorly recorded muzak over the speakers. I count the minutes as I feel the familiar, stomach-twisting feeling of the elevator moving before it comes to a halt. The doors slide open, albeit noisily, and I step into the hallway. I recall Clara's flat number (23L) and knock on the door four times. The door lurches open on its hinges and a man in his late-forties or early fifties stands at the welcome mat.

"Who are you?" he asks. It doesn't sound like a curious question – it sounds like a menacing one.

"You must be Mr. Oswald – Clara's father?"

He exhales deeply and repeats his words with an added force, "Who. Are. You?"

I hold out my hand in a gesture of kindness and gentlemanly behaviour as I answer his question with the frankness as if this were a job interview, "John Smith, sir."

There was some incoherent squealing that sounded almost like it could be some form of communication, and quickly I find myself being dragged into the apartment by a girl who looked a remarkable amount like Clara, though with longer hair, an absent fringe, and freckles left from years of outdoor exposure.

"So this is your coffee boy!" she says, almost teasingly, in the direction of the kitchen.

"You must be Oswin–" I attempt to fit a sentence in, though to no avail.

"Oh my god, he is so cute!" Oswin shouted, "Clara, I like your taste!"

A tall girl with peroxide blonde hair emerges from the hallway and sits at the dining table. She looks up and gives me a slightly awkward smile.

Oswin then yanks my arms so hard I'm surprised they don't fly from my arm sockets. I had no idea where she was taking me, but from the few seconds I'd known her I wasn't sure if it was good. She leads me in the direction of the front door, and for a moment I think that perhaps she's taking me back outside, however she then takes a left and pushes open the door to the kitchen.

"Kittens! I have brought you a new toy!" she smiles, "It goes by John but also answers to the name of _coffee boy_." Oswin announces her new monicker to the kitchen, where Clara and, assumedly, her stepmother. Clara cocks her head to the side, motioning for me to come closer. I oblige, leaning in to give her a slight peck on the lips. Oswin smiles as she exits the kitchen, however, Clara's stepmother just tuts us.

"So you're the little bastard that ruined my ultimate plan for Clara." There's laced bitterness in her voice. I grin, allowing my smile to reach my ears. She holds her ground as she tries to stare me down, but my words catch her off guard.

"I'm sorry, but last I checked, the only person who owns Clara is _Clara_."

She recovers quickly, her glare barely faltering before she rolls her eyes. "Yeah? And what would you know about parents? Clara said you're an orphan."

"Quite a lot actually," I begin, my voice raising a litte, "My biological parents might be dead, but my adopted parents mean the world to me."

She coughed, looking me up and down with disapproving eyes. "Probably a bunch of hippies-"

"My sister is Amelia Williams."

I can see her move her tongue over her upper teeth, perhaps trying to brush away the sour taste in her mouth upon the idea that someone she didn't pick for Clara could be someone worthy of her. She gives off an inaudible huff.

"Doctor..." Clara murmured, "...John. Calm down. She's like this with everyone." Clara has her hands on my chest, in an attempt to soothe me. Or maybe to stop me from murdering her stepmother in cold blood.

"Why'd you tell her, Clara? Why'd you tell her I'm an orphan?"

"I didn't!" now Clara was raising her voice. She very rarely got annoyed, so obviously she was just as exasperated as I was.

Her stepmother tried to speak over all of us, "If I could interject-"

"Linda, get out of my kitchen right now." Clara didn't shout–she just demanded it with such ferocity that Linda obeyed begrudgingly.

"If you didn't tell her, then how did she know?" I asked of her in a regular soft tone.

"I have no idea," Clara sighed. She pinched the bridge of her nose as her forehead furrowed. "Maybe she... googled you?"

"Has she done that in the past?"

"She's insane. It's a wonder my dad's still married to her."

There's an awkward silence following the declaration. Then, Clara says: "If you want, I can kick her out."

I clenched my jaw. "No. She's your family. I'll just stay in here an help you cook the turkey."

"I'm fine..." Clara claimed, somewhat defiant with a slight pout.

"Sure you are."

* * *

CLARA: I eventually gave up on making dinner when I realised that the Doctor was slightly more culinary inclined over me. He gets dinner on the table, served, in about a third of the time I take to make a toasted sandwich. It's a minimalist meal of turkey and salad, however it certainly tastes good.

The whole table is in silence, when suddenly Dad speaks out of nowhere. "This is great, Clara. I see your cooking skills have improved."

"Actually," I say, "John made it."

"Good man." He pat the Doctor on the back as he forced a feeble smile in return.

Winnie and Dad start asking the Doctor questions. Standard protocol for all my boyfriends: where they work, where they live, family members etc. I can see how overwhelmed the Doctor is by the slight widening of his eyes and how his leg is bouncing under the table. My Doctor, always hyperactive.

"Well, ugh. My name is Jonathan Randall Smith, I live on Relative Street in London. I'm a doctor of astronomical sciences at Oxford University. I was born on the fifteenth of June, 1987–anything else?"

"You missed family," Oswin said.

He put on a smile, "My biological parents died twenty-two years ago. I lived with my grandma for a few months after that before she passed away."

Oswin tried to hide the flush in her face as she began regretting her decision to enquire about his home life.

"I was adopted when I was seven by the Pond family, who are probably the best people in the world. They have a daughter, Amelia. She's the same age as Clara, actually. She's married to this guy named Rory–Amy, I mean. Not Clara. Clara isn't married to Rory–" I could see that the Doctor was at the beginning of a ramble, when Oswin interjects.

"I dated a guy named Rory."

This is enough to pull the Doctor back on track. "-anyway, yeah, that's about it for family. Except for my brother. My biological brother, I mean. Harry. He has a wife, Lucy. And a son.

Silence.

I exhale, trying to break the awkwardness that had fallen over the table.

"You're related to so many famous people, it's not even funny!"

" _Two_." The Doctor corrects me as if that was the usual amount for the average person.

"That's more than I know."

Oswin frowned at our interaction, "famous people?"

"His sister is Amelia Williams-"

"The writer-?"

"And his brother is Harold Saxon."

Linda bit her lip. Dad became oddly fixated on John in that moment. Winnie's jaw practically dropped.

"You're joking!"

The Doctor sits back in his chair, become increasingly more comfortable with his surroundings. "I don't see what the big deal is. They're just people who make a fair bit of money off their job."

It was barely audible, but I faintly heard Winnie say as slight, "One good-looking family."

I rolled my eyes, and Winnie protested. "What? Have you _seen_ Harold Saxon? _Amelia Williams_? They're so hot my eyes hurt just looking at them!"

Dad's eyebrows shot to the roof, though he had a slight smile fighting to curve his lips, as if Winnie's statement confirmed something for him.

Oswin covered her mouth in realisation. And suddenly I could see the gears in the Doctor's brain turn as if he'd just realised why exactly Nina had come to family dinner.

* * *

 _December fourteenth, 2013_ / _May ninth, 2022 (The Doctor is thirty-six)_

THE DOCTOR: I'm beating the shit out of some random drunk suburban guy who called me a kind of derogatory slur in reference to my clothing and then proceeded to try and beat me up to somehow prove my point.

I'm just about ready to smash his face in when I hear a familiar sound of Clara's voice, though with something slightly off. There's a reigning confidence in it that I couldn't quite pick. Indeed, when I looked up, it wasn't Clara, but instead her twin sister. I immediately stop beating the guy and relief fills my body.

"Hey, coffee boy," she says. I turn from my groaning homophobic yuppie to look at Oswin in the face.

"Oswin," I step back, "How's it going?"

"I don't want to _disturb_ you or anything, but, uh, could you _not_ beat up Adam?"

She's got to be joking. No way in hell is Oswin Oswald, my sister-in-law, friends with this homophobic asshole. "He asked for it."

She groaned, "What did he do _this_ time?"

"He called me a 'faggot' meaning to insult me for my clothing choices."

"Okay, yeah, he deserved it." She agreed, " He's a dick, I know."

"Then why are you friends with him? You're bi, aren't you?" I asked, "Wouldn't you want to slap him upside the head."

"I hardly know you. I don't need to talk about this with you."

"Yes, you do," I said, "because, one day, we're going to be family."

It took her a few moments to comprehend what I'd just said.

"You're going to marry Clara?" she asked.

I frowned, "Why is that so surprising? What's the date?"

Oswin was beyond confused now. "December fourteenth?"

"What year?" I asked her. She raised her eyebrows and scoffs.

"My god, you're drunk," she shook her head, "Of course, that makes sense. You've only know her a few months, and now you want to marry her?"

"2013..." I murmured to myself, perhaps a little too loudly.

"Yeah. You alright?" she actually began to allow concern into her usually laid-back, cool expression.

"I'm fine." I stepped closer to her, "Let's go to _the Coffeebreak_ , I'll explain everything in more detail there."

She nodded, bewildered. "Let me call an ambulance first.

* * *

We walked to _the Coffeebreak_ in silence, and I got a table.

"So, what happened back there?" she asked.

"He saw how I was dressed. Got obnoxious. Tried to beat me up to prove a point. Got a nasty fright."

"Why are you dressed like that?"

"Long story." was all I said.

There was silence. Oswin sipped at her coffee.

"How are you not completely puffed?" she asked with absolute bewilderment.

"I don't know? Fit, I guess."

"Woah, man, you're in great shape. I thought you were about ready to kill Adam."

"I wouldn't have. I was just minding my own business."

She nodded thoughtfully, "Which was what, exactly?"

"Excuse me?"

"John, I'm not an idiot. I've seen _you_ before. There's something about you. I don't know what it is–it's not quite right. I know people. People who know you. Women, mainly."

She waits for an answer. Funnily, I don't remember her asking a question, but she gave me an inquisitive look, uncanny to Clara's. It was only polite: "What do you want to know?"

"Everything. Like how a doctor of astronomical sciences with such charm and kindness beats a guy into nothing. I want to know why River Song tried to kill you. I want to know why you look ten years older than when I last saw you. Your hair's got bits of grey in it. I want to know why you're a great pickpocket-"

"How would you know that?"

"I know people–anyway, I want to know why Clara had a photograph of you before she actually met you."

She looks up at me. I've seen this before. She can make almost any person crumble before her glare. I sigh with exasperation.

"Fine then. Here it is: time travel."

Oswin rolls her eyes at my seemingly condescending comment, but says nothing.

"I'm a time traveler. At the moment, I am thirty-six years old. This afternoon was the ninth of May, 2022. I was dressed for my niece's play. I was just finishing up helping Amy and Rory pack up when I went inside this blue box and I found myself about a block away from where you found me. It's like an obsession. Or an addiction. An addiction, more likely. A drug. I've tried to give it up. I really, really have, but it never works."

"Do you have things you regret?" she asked me curtly, her arms folded across her chest.

"Lots. Like teaching myself to pickpocket. But hey, money changes so frequently that it's a necessity. I can't go around, say, 1987, the year I was born, with money that has 2022 printed on them. That money's just about useless."

Silence.

"Do you actually know River Song?" I enquired of her.

"I know Jack Harkness."

I frowned, "You slept with him, didn't you?"

She scoffed, "I am not talking about this with you, old man."

"You slept with him." I affirm.

"Yeah, okay," she shrugged, "Fine, I did it! No regrets."

I smiled, and then she asked, "Why did River try and kill you?"

I sighed, running my hands through my hair, "she's a psychopath. She didn't have the greatest childhook–2013? Yeah, that would be her third attempt."

"But why you?"

"Crazy ex?"

"This is a crazy messed up joke, coffee boy."

"You want proof..."

"Of course."

"What about that photograph?" I suggest.

"Even that tripped me."

"Why don't you ask Clara? If you're skeptical?"

She nodded, "I did. I didn't believe her."

"Why not? She's a very truthful person."

Oswin frowned, "She's also been know to be manipulative sometimes. I hear that familiar wheezing of the box, and I turn to Oswin. I grab her by the wrist and begin pulling her outside of the café.

"What the hell are you doing?" she says, on the verge of a screech.

"I think you're about to get all the proof you want. Follow me."

* * *

 _December fifteenth, 2013 (Clara is twenty-five)_

CLARA: It's a beautiful day and I'm on my way home from the Doctor's newly-furnished apartment. The streets are icy and there's a few inches of snow coating the ground. It makes riding a motorcycle a tad difficult, but I manage. I'm getting that rubbery feeling in my spine. A feeling I'm beginning to associate with the Doctor–John.

Oh, John. He's the same, yet different. He's younger, less scared. The Doctor I grew up with was in constant fear of screwing something up. Not this one. This one has nothing to be afraid of.

I float up the stairs to my apartment. This is one of the only days I will get some alone time in my apartment, as Oswin, Nina, Emma and Ada have been frequently coming over. Except, as soon as I open the door, I realise I'm not alone.

She doesn't speak, she just stares at me with a raised brow, hoping I will talk to her.

"Oswin," I ask, setting down my keys, "What are you doing here?"

She smiles, "I spent last night with that John of yours."

"So did I," I say.

"What did you do?" she asks.

I sighed, "We visited his office. He showed me the stars, then we watched Tangled. I went to his place–"

"–And you just left."

"Yeah"

"Well, my evening was much less romantic, but more eventful. I found John in some alley by that coffeeshop you like, beating Adam–"

"Adam Mitchell?" I asked, "Your co-worker?"

"Yeah. Rose told me this morning that he has a broken nose, broken ribs, five broken bones in his hand, and forty-six stitches." I'm unmoved by this. Adam was a jerk that thinks he knows better than everybody else just because he can work a computer.

"What did Adam do?"

Winnie begins to look uncomfortable, "Apparently, he was being a homophobic bigot."

"Usual, then," I nodded.

Oswin smiled, "And then we had food at _the Coffeebreak_." There was a pause, like she wanted to add something else, but was too scared. This was a rarity for Oswin. She could usually be trusted to speak her mind.

"He told me the same story you told me."

"And why did you believe him?"

"I could tell he actually knew me, very well, in fact. I had only really realised about six months ago that I was bi, and he just brings it up like it's no big deal." I nod, sympathetically.

"And then he hopped inside that box and just... disappeared. Like he was never there."

I sighed, "He does that. He drops in, changes people's lives, and then leaves like it was nothing. Hey, when was he coming from?"

"2022. He said he was thirty-six. He looked much older though–"

"That's one of his stress years." I explain, "Something big is happening then. I can't remember what, though. It's been eight years since he told me."

Oswin leans forward gravely, "He says he's going to marry you. Don't accept."

"He hasn't even asked me yet."

"You know what I mean. Martha Smith-Jones, from the hospital, she fancied him a while back, and he tossed her away. River Song wants to kill him, literally. When are you going to wake up? I don't want you waltzing into the arms of a sociopath."

"He's not a sociopath. And anyway, it's much too late."

* * *

 _December twenty-two, 2013 (The Doctor is twenty-seven, and thirty-three)_

THE DOCTOR: At 5:25am, the buzzer rings. That's never a good omen.

"Hey, John. Let me up, why don't ya?"

The voice sounds like my father once did. In an unsettling, uncanny way. Like listening to an old recording, or reading old journal entries.

I stagger over the abundance of boxes on the ground, and press the button to let him in. Forty-five seconds later, the elevator clunks and start to ratchet its way up. I pull on my robe over my pyjamas and wait in the hall. Sure enough, my visitor is me.

He steps into the corridor, wearing a hoodie and black jeans. His hair is a mess, his jaw is unshaven. I pull him by the wrist into the apartment and lock the door behind us. He looks me over, "Blimey, I was young."

"How old are you?" I ask, throwing any manners the Ponds had ingrained in me out the window.

"Thirty-three. What's the date?"

"December twenty-second, 2013." He groans, 'Ugh, that evening. Now _that_ was abysmal."

He walks into my room, and goes under the covers.

"Um, John?" I ask myself, "When are you from?"

He groans again, and takes some time to think. "November thirteenth, 2019. I was about to go to bed, and you're going to let me, or you're going to _really_ regret it in six years."

That's a reasonable enough answer. I take off my robe and get back into bed. Now, I'm on the wrong side: Clara's side. My doppelgänger has taken over my side of the bed.

I ponder my double. He's curled up. Hedgehod style, facing away from me. Evidently already asleep. I envy him. He is me, but I am not him. Not yet. He has lived through six years of life that still remains a mystery to me. Whatever pleasures he's had, I have no had them yet. Is he married? Does he have a kid? Kids?

I try to consider him with Clara's eyes–this is the man that she's know since childhood. He's a lot more muscular than I am, and has heavy dark circles under his eyes. Clara told me the oldest she's seen me is forty-something, and I wear glasses. That man is foreign to me.

* * *

 _Evening, the same day (The Doctor is twenty-seven, and thirty-three, Clara is twenty-five)_

CLARA: We're off to see the new Disney movie–' _Frozen_ '–in 3D. The Doctor is reluctant, which I don't understand because he loves Disney movies. He must know something.

We stand in line for a few minutes to get our food. He has the tickets in his pocket, and I'm starting to wonder whether or not to trust him with them, as he is so completely against the movie.

"What's wrong?" I ask him.

He looks at me and forces an unnatural smile that the Doctor does. "Nothing, I'm fine."

We move up in the line and the lady at the cash register asks if we want anything.

He nods, "Just a Coke, please."

I smile, "Yes, and can we please have a large popcorn?"

"Will that be all?"

"Yes, thank you." I give her a smile a she hands us our food in exchange for money.

Something catches his eye, and he excuses himself. I notice all the people–little girls with costumes on, parents who look just as excited. I feel like the odd one out. A twenty-five year old woman coming to see a Disney movie with her currently-absent boyfriend.

He has been gone a long time, and so I go in search for him.

When I discover him, in what first looked like quite an intimate position, until I realised that he was yelling at the gorgeous woman in front of him.

She looked much older, kind of Mrs. Robinson-esque. She wore a cream-colored shirt with a belt and had beautiful blonde frizzy hair.

"River, I can't do this now."

"Why not? You wouldn't answer your phone?" she says it with a kind of flirty undertone that I couldn't miss.

"Yes, but don't make a scene while I'm at a movie _with my girlfriend_."

"What do you want me to do? Graffiti the Great Wall of China?"

"Go ahead!" he began shouting, but in that kind of whisper-like shouting. I couldn't tell whether or not it was working when the Doctor noticed me, and he stepped towards me.

"Doctor, what's going on?"

River snorts somehow attractively, "'Doctor'? Wow, since when are you into weird kinks?" she turns to me, "What are you, the nurse?"

"Leave her alone, River."

She pouted with forceful innocence.

"Clara, this is Doctor Song."

"Professor Song," she corrected.

"Professor," I bit my lip, fighting against the feelings of inferiority creeping into my thoughts, "Right, okay."

* * *

Slightly later, I go to the ladies' halfway though the film, and I see River in there crying.

"What's your name?" asks one of the ladies with her.

"Clara." The lady snorts.

"That's a stupid name. Word of advice–you don't know what you're getting into. John Smith, he's bad news. He's River's bad news. You hear me?"

I roll my eyes, "I've known him almost my entire life. I met him when he was six."

"Is that so? says River, "so perhaps you know his biggest, darkest secret?"

I swallow, "Yes."

"Hmmph, well. Then I guess it's your own fault when you get hurt, Sweetie. And I'll be right here with John in my arms."

* * *

 _author's note : i'm so sorry for villifying river i stg i love her okay it's just how she fit into the story_


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